


Sponge Bath

by wildirerose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Het, Mental Instability, Nurse Meg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:57:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2275764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildirerose/pseuds/wildirerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extremely short Megstiel PWP. Dub con warning for mental!Cas being in and out of consciousness during.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sponge Bath

**Author's Note:**

> Written a while ago as a gift for saltandbyrne; just realized I hadn't posted it here!

Sometimes he comes back to himself to find Meg’s hands on him, running a damp cloth across his chest and humming something hideous. She has terrible taste in music, that’s one of the things he learns about her under the quiet hum of fluorescent lights. It is never dark here; it becomes gray at night when only half of the buzzing lights are left on to illuminate the footsteps of the nurses. He can see all of her when she undresses. Tonight, his eyes find hers and she sees his awareness in them. Her mouth quirks. “Hey there, Clarence,” she says. “About time you dropped in. I was just getting to the good part.”

She drops the sponge back into the plastic, sudsy basin and pulls her own shirt off. Her breasts are so pale the skin looks blue under the lights, and he reaches out for her, runs his thumb across her nipple until it hardens under his touch. She laughs. “Eager boy. Hips up.” He obeys, lifting his hips off the bed so she can remove his pants. She steps out of her own, too, and she’s all pale skin around a thin strip of black lace when she straddles his thighs. When she leans over to grab the sponge her nipples drag along his chest and blood rushes to his vessel’s cock. He wonders how long it’s been; these moments of lucidity are brief and it’s hard to tell how much time has passed in between them. He’s aching for her, so he imagines it has been some time. She slides the wet sponge down his sides, shifts her body so he can feel her own wet heat sliding along the length of him. It soaks through the slight scratch of her panties, she rubs against him until she grows tired of the pretense of bathing and tosses the sponge back with a small splash.

It’s a curious thing, how their vessels respond to each other on instinct. He can see her true face, flickering there, and he knows she can see his grace. But their vessels move against each other’s and he’s pulled into the immediacy of it, the comfort of her body against his body. “Still with me, Clarence?” she asks, and he is, so he nods. When he reaches for her she pins his hands to the bed, clucking her tongue at him and grinding down hard. There are restraints attached to the rails of the bed. She uses them now, a raised eyebrow and a mischievous grin. He doesn’t mind. It’s easier this way, letting her take him. Lately, he even trusts her.

She doesn’t waste time, that’s another thing he’s learned about her. She pulls the panties to one side, steadies him with one hand gripped tight around his cock, and slides slowly down. Neither of them make a sound, but his grace undulates with the pleasure of it. She smirks, watching him. Then she circles her hips, pulls her body up and slams it back down. She throws her head back, rides him with abandon, deep, panting breaths ripped from her lungs as she moves faster and faster. He feels all the tension inside him center low in his gut, feels desire and need in waves that overwhelm him. She comes before he does, her fingers sliding around him, against herself, little flutters that are enough to tip him over soon after.

Sometimes that’s all it takes to send him away again, but today he’s still conscious when she leans back against the rails of the bed. She throws one leg across his and draws the other to her chest, her hand still rubbing, smearing his come up onto her stomach, across her thighs. She comes again, her eyes closed this time, and then looks him dead in the eye while she licks her fingers clean. He wants to taste her, but he’s still strapped down. She pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his nightstand drawer; she keeps them taped to the top of it so the orderly doesn’t find them. “Hey, Clarence, got a light?” He shakes his head, feels the madness creeping back in at the edges of his brain. “There are always lights, here. Humming,” he says. His tongue feels thick. She reaches out, fists a hand in his hair and pulls him back. It works, he refocuses on her.

"You know, I could make you appreciate humming, under the right circumstances," she says with a lascivious grin.

Whatever she means, he has a feeling he’s going to like it.


End file.
